Death in a nutshell

I was never particularly interested in dolls or dollhouses as a child, but if I'd had something like this, you couldn't have dragged me away:

Frances Glessner Lee, a Chicago heiress, provided for just about
every creature comfort when she fashioned 19 dollhouse rooms during the 1940s.
She stocked the larders with canned goods and placed half-peeled potatoes by
the kitchen sink. Over a crib, she pasted pink striped wallpaper.

Lee, a volunteer police officer with an honorary captain's rank whose
father was a founder of the International Harvester Co., used her ghoulish
scenes to teach police recruits the art of observation.

She called her miniatures the Nutshell Studies of Unexplained Death,
after a saying she had heard from detectives: "Convict the guilty, clear the
innocent and find the truth in a nutshell." At her thousand-acre estate in
Bethlehem, N.H., she set up a workshop called the Nutshell Laboratories. The
first woman to become a member of the International Association of Chiefs of
Police, she noticed how often officers mishandled evidence and mistook
accidents for murders and vice versa. After endowing a new department in legal
medicine at Harvard, she created the Nutshells as classroom tools, packing
them with tiny but detectable clues: lipstick smears on a pillowcase, a bullet
embedded in a wall.

"The inspector may best examine them by imagining himself a trifle less
than six inches tall," she suggested in her curriculum notes.

she's face up, arms at her side, the oven and the larder are both open and the larder door is open above her. unless the door is not properly balanced, it should have closed as she fell past it. or perhaps she rolled under it, but then why are her arms at her sides?